


Wounds

by CactusGhost, Lrihgo



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Abuse Mentions, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, History of abuse, Past Abuse, Platonic Relationships, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans! Libra, Transgender
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-12 05:32:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4467257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CactusGhost/pseuds/CactusGhost, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lrihgo/pseuds/Lrihgo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the aftermath of the latest battle, newly-recruited Libra seeks out the help of Lissa to treat some awkward physical wounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever attempt at writing, so please bear with me! As I have not quite figured out tags, I don't assume anyone will find this work, but if I am proven wrong I would greatly appreciate any form of constructive comment. Thank you for your time.

The triage tent is full of various grunts and hushed apologies as the Shepherds tend to their wounds from the recent battle. Maribelle and Lissa worriedly flit about from person to person, giving aid to those with the most severe ailments, while small scrapes and cuts are treated with vulneraries and bandages. As their wounds are treated, the Shepherds clear out of the tent until only a few remain to sleep off the effects of the scrimmage. Confident she can take care of the rest, Lissa waves a tired Maribelle out of the tent, kissing her swiftly on the cheek before returning back inside and disappearing behind the flaps of the tent's opening.

 

Upon reentering the tent, Lissa is greeted by a solemn Libra standing awkwardly next to the first cot. She smiles and bounces over to the tall gentleman, who shrinks away slightly at her openly exuberant attitude. Nonetheless, Lissa continues to dance around him in an attempt to examine whatever wounds brought him in to see her. She makes a couple rounds before finally coming to a halt in front of Libra, gently frowning and clearly more than just a little concerned.

 

“Libra, your clothes aren't even torn! They're so clean it doesn't even look like you were on the battlefield today.” Lissa's face contorts into an expression of mixed concern and confusion. Various thoughts flicker through her head, ranging from Libra wanting her attention for something else unrelated to healing to the priest suffering from incurable disease. An expression of pure horror overcomes Lissa's usually cheerful face.

 

Libra quickly takes a small step forward, reaching out as if to comfort Lissa but stopping just short of actual physical contact. He mumbles something about it not being that serious, but both he and Lissa could tell he didn't really mean it. The petite girl huffs and crosses her arms, tired of Libra's quiet demeanor. She manages to keep up the stern act for a few moments before burning herself out and returning to feeling concerned. Lissa gives up trying to fight a silent battle and tells Libra to take a seat, and to explain himself. It takes a while for Libra to finally speak, but when he does it is as if he rehearsed his words before coming to the tent.

 

“Yes, well you see the wound I need care for is not from today's battle but from one a few weeks ago.” Libra pauses to take a few breaths before continuing, “Normally I would be able to handle an injury of this scale, but it's in a position I can't exactly reach comfortably so I haven't been able to treat it to the extent that was probably needed.”

 

“So you came to me for help?” Lissa seemed pleased but also concerned as to the extent of her friend's mysterious wound. “How severe is it that you had to come to me for help?”

 

“Not too severe, it is more a problem of where it is and my level of comfort with others in camp.” Libra's brows furrow in obvious distress and Lissa steps in a little closer.

 

“Well, come on, let me help!”

 

Libra sighs and begins the process of removing layer upon layer of his robes, only stopping when he is left in his undershirt and trousers. Lissa admires his build, finding herself once again admiring how beautiful Libra is, even as tired and upset as he currently looks. The priest gestures for Lissa to move behind him and attempts to lift the back of his tight black turtleneck. Lissa, paying close attention to not touch him, peers under the shirt and offhandedly comments that it would be easier to treat a wound she could see. He replies shakily that he would remove his shirt if Lissa would double check to make sure the other patients were really asleep. She makes a quiet noise of confusion but does what Libra asked.

 

Lissa makes her rounds and affirms that the others are indeed asleep, voicing her affirmation aloud to Libra. Her head is filled with thoughts of mixed concern and a little bit of excitement. Libra had been growing steadily closer to her over the past weeks, but still there was so much to him that she did not know. Lissa tried not to be the type of person to pry into someone else's personal life, but honestly it was something that just happened in such a tightly-knit camp and she would be lying to herself if she said she didn't enjoy it at least a little bit. She gathers a few items and turns back around to return to Libra's side.

 

“So that's why you're so pretty!” Lissa blurts out, humiliating both herself and Libra in that split second. Her face flushes a bright pink that matches the color similarly covering the..boy's? “Apologies, that is not exactly what I meant. I just mean to say you're so beautiful and I was always a little jealous of it! Not that this is any different. Oh. Excuse me...” She trails off and apologizes profusely, extremely embarrassed.

 

Libra covers his chest to the best of his ability, awkwardly posing his arms with a pained expression on his face. Lissa rushes to his back, examining the wound squarely between his shoulder blades. Her expression softens and tears well up in the corners of her eyes. She quietly wipes them away with the back of her wrist before starting to work on the infected cut. Lissa is careful to describe every action she performs, trying to soothe the haphephobic man. Libra's shoulders never relax but Lissa can tell his mind has quieted a bit, although she could not say what he was now thinking about.

 

It doesn't take long for Lissa to take care of the wound, although if Libra had waited any longer to find help it would have proved a much more difficult problem for the cleric. Lissa is annoyed, but a little proud of Libra for sharing his secret with her. Her work finished, Lissa moves silently to the other end of the tent to return various tools to their proper places and to allow Libra to compose himself. When she turns again to face the front of the room, Libra is fully clothed in his war monk garb. He stands quietly and bows slightly to Lissa, mumbling a thank you under his breath, face still flushed and eyes still averted. He moves as if to leave, but Lissa rushes in front of him to barricade the opening flap.

 

“Listen Libra, I'm sorry I made you feel uncomfortable. It was not my intention to distress you, I was a little shocked! But that's it. I hope you can forgive me.”

 

Libra pauses, and finally his eyes move to meet Lissa's. “It is alright. You must understand that my body is something I am not comfortable with, nor is it something I wish for people to know about. You are the only one to know of my... situation... and I hope it will not change things between us, and that it will not leave your lips.” Deep concern blossoms behind Libra's piercing green eyes, threatening to bubble over and run down his cheeks.

 

“I cannot promise that knowing this will not change anything between us Libra!” Lissa pauses for a moment to asses how he'll react. Libra seems more confused than anything else, so she continues. “But I assure you it will not harm anything. I am going to support you even more than I ever did before! I know people often mistake you for a women, and now I know why. You're not a woman Libra, nothing will change that. You are still just the most beautiful man I have ever seen!” Lissa's face splits open into a broad grin. She prays that her sentiments got through to Libra, and that he will understand his importance to her. Lissa feels like he just might as Libra smiles slightly, his eyebrows finally smoothing out and a sigh of relief escaping his lips.

 

“Thank you Lissa. I appreciate this more than I can say.” Lissa barely manages to hold back the urge to embrace him, and instead moves to finish cleaning up the tent and to do one last checkup on the sleeping patients. Libra quickly glances over his shoulder and out of the corner of her eye Lissa can tell he's crying. “I trust I will see you again soon for another one of Robin's training assignments, partner.”

 

Libra exits the tent.

 

 


	2. Dreaming of Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Libra 'deals' with his trauma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning for physical abuse in the first three paragraphs (ending with the paragraph starting "The dream continued for what seemed like years"; mentions of abuse after.**

That night, Libra's parents visited him in a dream. 

He was a child again, a dirty over-sized shirt hanging limply around his knees, which were pressed painfully deep into the dirt floor of his parent's home. His long blonde hair was knotted into the fist of his father hovering above him, yelling, always yelling, in his deep booming voice. Libra's mother watched from the opposite side of the small room. She was near enough to touch, but she shrank away from Libra's small hands when they reached out for her in pain. Pleading for help. Libra's face slammed into the dirt, the unseen force of his father's hands rubbing Libra into the muddied ground. He shrieked in agony, sobbing uncontrollably until Libra's father shoved a rag into his mouth. Libra tried again to scream but choked on the fabric, gagging into the dirt and straining to breath through his running nose. 

“You, shall, not, do, this, ever, again, child” Each pause between his father's words were accented with a new burst of strength pushing Libra to the floor. He cried out in pain. Blood mingled with the tears leaking from his eyes, and blinded him with burning red liquid that eventually ran into Libra's mouth or the ground. 

The dream was not unusual. The act was not unusual. Libra often dreamed of his childhood, memories of his parents enacting their forms of discipline had been burned into his mind even before his parents had disappeared. The punishment for being found with a toy sword, he remembered, was the catalyst for this particular memory. If he concentrated hard enough Libra could see the tattered straw dolls, another form of punishment, propped up against the wall behind his mother. Their eyes were as accusatory as hers. Why couldn't he have just been normal? Why couldn't he have just done what they had wanted? Why couldn't he have made them stay? An endless list of 'why's played through his mind as his dream father continued the assault. 

The dream continued for what seemed like years, but when Libra eventually managed to pry himself out of the nightmare and lay awake, sweating on his cot, Libra knew it had been less than an hour since he had fallen asleep. Libra sat up slowly, wiping drops of sweat from his brow and looking about his tent. He felt dirty, his cot felt soiled and his body ached to get up and run as far as he could without stopping, but his mind was a blurry snowstorm that couldn't pick a direction to think in even if he had possessed the strength to try. No matter how many times he had those dreams, he always awoke with a deep, empty feeling in his gut. Almost as if he were a never ending pit of dark abyss. A shell, a continuing disappointment to his long-gone parents. Libra was just barely able to make out the shape of the tent flap across from his cot. He stared blankly at it as he took deep breaths. Inhale: one, two, three. Pause. Exhale: one, two, three. Repeat. He continued this until his heartbeat slowed and his mind stopped racing. Libra's eyes never moved from the dim shape of the exit. 

When Libra's mind cleared, he resigned himself to yet another night without sleep. The dark circles under his eyes, Libra reasoned with himself, might at least make him appear more masculine. He stood up, neatly folded up his sweat-soaked blankets, and placed them in a pile near the tent flap, promising himself that he'd clean them in the morning when the rest of the camp awakened. Instead of going back to his cot, he kneeled down on a woven fabric rug, habitually placed on the floor in the center of his tent. His bare knees pressed familiarly into the woven green fabric, comforting in its own way. 

Libra's eyes closed, and his thoughts drifted off to Naga. He stayed there, occasionally changing sitting position, but for the most part unmoving until the sun rose outside his tent. Libra could hear voices begin to converse outside, yet still he stayed immobile in the center of the room. It felt like he might stay there forever, pressing his knees, his hands, his forehead to the rug, occasionally whispering chosen phrases or stifling muffled sobs. Time had no meaning even on good days, on days like today nothing had meaning. His body was not real, his surroundings were a vague collection of objects that had no real presence. On days like today, all Libra wanted to do was pray. So that's what he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OTL
> 
> Libra is a really personal character to me, I tried to elaborate on his character in the game because I feel like people don't give his traumatic past enough credit for the type of person he is now. I see a lot of myself in him, so this chapter is basically just exploring Libra's personality to see how he would have reacted to his parent's abuse if it came from a place of transphobia, as well as their leaving.


	3. No More Dreaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A friend comes to help Libra with his nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a direct continuation of previous part, which was posted ages ago. I never really intended this to be a series, but I'm enjoying writing them anyway. All of Tharja's quotations were written by my lovely girlfriend Lrihgo, I highly recommend her writing if you enjoyed her characterization of Tharja.

Libra prayed for most of the day. No one came by, the Shepherds had long since learned to not disturb him in his tent and the hours were passed mostly in silence, only occasionally broken up by murmured prayers or a sound from outside. Libra’s stomach growled in protest, he haddn’t eaten in at least a day but he wasn’t one to give in to his bodily needs when in prayer. Libra often forwent eating and bathing and even drinking in order to pray. He found that when his body ached and pained, he felt the most calm. If anyone were to interrupt him in these feverishly private moments, Libra knew he would never outlive the shame of being seen so...unguarded. These were not moments meant for other’s eyes. He did occasionally pray out in the open, in pleasant fields with his beloved Shepherds nearby, but those were planned occasions. Those occasions were joyous celebrations of his love and devotion to Naga, to goodness, to unadulterated love for his fellow people; this was different, prayers in his room were to save himself, not others. 

Just when Libra feels himself grounded in his prayers, the thoughts come again and his mind grasps desperately to hold onto Naga. It almost seemed as though his torture would never end, he was subjected to a never ending cycle of gut-wrenching desperation and vivid flashbacks, finding a glint of a way out, and desperate attempts to cling onto something good or at least something not so terrible it made his skin feel as though it was sloughing off and pooling on the ground around him. His entire body ached, it seemed foolish when the visions first started that purely mental ailments could plague his physical body as well, but now the pain was as familiar as his mental fatigue. 

He probably would have spent the entire day praying in painful silence until he inevitably fell asleep propped up against his bed, knees still grinding down into the green mat and entire soul rubbed raw from his efforts— if not for the visitor that coughed outside his tent flap. 

“I’ve already passed by several times patiently waiting for you to finish, but you seem determined to expire bowed like that. If you wanted to waste my time, then you’ve succeeded.”

Libra calmly raises his head but keeps his eyes shut and back against the intruder. The darkness was still broiling inside of him, darkness threatening to cascade from his wretched heart and down through his skin to his extremities. If he could only hold it in for a few more moments... He takes a few deep breaths before he dares to open his eyes and address his friend. 

“Good morning Tharja, what can I help you with?” He sighs. 

“You mean, ‘good evening’. Perhaps you could just chase those demons of yours away with some exercise and some sunlight. But I’m one to talk,” she spits, the sound of her armor and other trinkets clacking nearing as she steps up behind him. “Anyway, a guinea pig doesn’t ask questions, does he?” 

He feigns a laugh, but it’s a cold and empty act. “You’re right, I suppose.” Libra turns to face her finally, revealing bloodshot eyes and a thin layer of sweat as he slowly stands up. His knees ache in protest after having been pressed so deeply into the prayer mat for so long, but he ignores it, silently reveling in the dull throbbing of his bones. He flushes a bit in embarrassment, it was unusual for anyone to see him like this although if anyone had to he supposed he would rather it be Tharja. A lock of hair falls into his face and he realizes he hadn’t braided it yet, “Although I wish you had come at a tad more opportune time…”

Libra trails off as he turns to rummage about his bags to find his hair brush and some pins. He finds them exactly where he left them, meticulously placed in a side pocket of his largest bag, and starts the arduous process of braiding the locks of hair behind his ears. How disgusting he was, covered in grime and sweat, wallowing in his sorrows all day when there were things to be done. The dark pit in his heart kicked, and a couple stray tears flow from his tired eyes before quickly being wiped away with a gently trembling hand. 

“Well are you going to tell me about your newest hex or are you just here to amuse yourself?” He quips, rather ungracefully.

Tharja doesn’t respond right away. When he next hears her voice, it has lost it’s condescending, annoyed edge. “We can do this tomorrow. Forgive me if I don’t want to hex an exhausted, half-present puppet of a man. That doesn’t sound like much fun.”

Libra softens a bit at Tharja’s concern, no matter how illy hidden it was. “No, it’s fine. I would enjoy the distraction anyhow.” Braids finished and heartbeat slightly calmed, he stands up and moves to find more proper clothing than the undergarments he was currently sporting. Tharja knew all his secrets, she had seen the darkest depths of his mind after all, but there was no sense in airing his shame for longer than needed. His chest of clothing was immaculately maintained, all clothing neatly folded and sorted according to the type of garment, the age, and how often he wears it. As he carefully picks out a casual outfit to hold office with Tharja in, the woman in question moves closer and sets up shop in the middle of the dirt floor. With a messy whirlwind suddenly there are books and bottles and a scattering of loose paper littering the floor, Tharja plopped noiselessly down in the center. 

“What is it today, another memory spell?” Libra couldn’t help the tendrils of hope coiling around his destroyed heart. He hated to expect anything, her curses had hardly worked yet, but he nonetheless desperately wished they would. 

“Please. As if I’d stoop to perform the same trick like a stumped, boring fool,” she murmured, having lost a significant amount of her stingy bite. 

He sighs, almost too tired to bother with her but he decides that she came here for a purpose, and Tharja was no idiot. Libra gently sits down across from the woman and carefully avoids smashing any of her belongings. 

“What I have for you is a concoction I authored myself—a hex of corpselike sleep. The theory is correct and the danger outweighs the positives, but since you're already so entangled in a realm of nightmares, I doubt any failure on my part could make anything worse for you than you are now.”

Libra’s exhausted mind takes a second to catch up to what was being said to him, but once he does his eyes seem less dim. “And...what would that entail? If it worked, that is.” He had to be careful, there was no sense in getting his hopes up for something as unsure as one of Tharja’s experiments. But if it did work… if it did work he would be free. 

“You sleep like a corpse. You will not have dreams and will never feel restful. Falling asleep might feel a bit like dying, but you seem a dead man walking as is, perhaps some prayers to your God will soothe the ache after a while or what have you,” Tharja explains. 

The former was a blessing straight from Naga herself; to not dream would be, metaphorically, a dream come true and he could hardly care about the latter when he was always so tired anyway. To be able to sleep an entire night would be an experience he hadn't had in nearly his whole life– if ever at all– and it would be worth a shot at the very least. He had considered much more dangerous things to end his nightmares.

Libra can't help himself now, a vague sense of excitement washes over him and his dulled heart beats anew. “And are these all the supplies you need?” The various bottles Tharja has before here were all full with strange liquids and viscous substances that Libra doesn’t dare think too much about. Her papers were organized in some fashion he was sure, but they appeared to be spread about haphazardly and the writing on them was nearly illegible. Other trinkets and small items littered the pile; a few bones and feathers and a couple books that were open to pages that seemed entirely unrelated to each other. Although he was a little concerned at this Libra keeps his mouth shut and trusts Tharja to know what she's doing. 

“Yes. This is everything… however, I have a question.”

“What?” Libra asks, as politely as possible with his heart gnawing its way out of his ribcage. He raises a brow in an attempt to hide his impatience, he wanted the spell cast already and he wasn’t about to wait around while she teased him. 

The hesitation that encapsulates Tharja’s usual straightforwardness is not lost on him. She draws her eyes down, digging her nails into the palms of her hands. “There is a darkness I have glimpsed of you that festers more ravaging and cruel than any that I’ve ever chanced upon while chasing memories. My question is… are you defeating these demons or are you succumbing to their torture?”

He responds without hesitation “I'm not sure there's a way to defeat them”. The answer seems to satisfy her– or at least sate her curiosity for the moment– and she begins the spell. 

Black tendrils of mist coil around her arms and run along the floor, they puddle around Libra’s crossed legs as if they would pull him into the pitch dark void being created on the dirt floor but they merely grasp on to him limply, comfortingly. Tharja’s head is tilted back and her eyes faintly glow as she continues with her incantation. It feels so powerful that for a moment Libra feels like his bones would vibrate out of his skin, but as the seconds ticked by he grew more calm; his heart that had been pounding all day since his nightmare finally quieted and Tharja’s chanting grew muffled. The room blurred, and Libra felt himself fall into a deep, restless slumber. 

Tharja stops when she notices her companion’s delicate snoring. She smiles somewhat half-heartedly and gathers up her belongings. The smoke dissipates and everything goes back to how it was when she first entered the tent. She stands up to leave, then hesitates, and drapes a thin rough-spun blanket over Libra’s sleeping body before leaving.


End file.
